


against the odds

by Acacius



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: (as in we get a look into patrick's head), Banter, Falling In Love, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person Limited, Pre-Relationship, in which patrick is obviously in love & david is clueless but also smitten, sometimes you invest in your crush's business & that's valid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacius/pseuds/Acacius
Summary: AU | What if David had said yes to Patrick's invitation to crash at his place in 3x11 ("Stop Saying Lice!")?





	against the odds

**Author's Note:**

> don't think i've ever written for a show as wholesome as schitt's creek, but you can thank 2 of my best friends for that (and for getting me to binge-watch schitt's creek in general; it was a good™ decision).

“It’s certainly…” David begins, features pinching up in a familiar way that brings a smile to Patrick’s face. David continues to scan the room, heavily ringed hand propped underneath his chin, and Patrick feels another tug of affection for the strangely dressed, interesting, _spoiled,_ but kindhearted man whose every eccentricity was somehow endearing.

 _Endearing._ He tries not to think too long on _why_ the adjective is so apt for David, someone Patrick had—in a rather embarrassing and obvious way (to everyone _but_ David)—fallen hard and quickly for. There’s no logic in love—that much he can be certain of, otherwise he’d have settled down with Rachel years ago—but still, being cognizant of his recent string of somewhat irrational decisions didn’t mend the starter business shaped hole in his wallet.

(Not that Patrick minded too much.)

David suddenly snaps his fingers, the proverbial light-bulb moment apparent on his face as he momentarily stops investigating the thread count of Patrick’s sheets. “Oh, I’ve got it! It’s quaint!”

“Took you awhile to get to that statement huh, bud?” Patrick says, inwardly wincing at his own remark. He wasn’t the _smoothest_ with words… but neither was David, thankfully.

With a roll of his eyes, David shuffles to where he’s dropped his overnight bag, back turned to the door (and Patrick) as he takes out a container of what is obviously moisturizer from the store— _their_ store. 

Patrick swallows past the lump in his throat at the thought, gaze hovering a tad too long on David’s backside to be considered polite. Just as he opens his mouth he feels a hand on his shoulder and stops short of a yell, settling instead on a pointed look when he realizes who’s behind him. 

Ray gives a cheeky grin to Patrick as if he’s stumbled upon some salacious secret, one eyebrow raised. “So, business partners and now partner partners? You young ones always move so quickly in relationships—it makes my head spin!”

“Oh my God!” David yells, voice hovering somewhere between surprised and annoyed as he whips his head around to see Ray walking towards him. The man slides past him to sit on the armchair in the corner of the room, fingers drumming together excitedly.

“We’re not together,” Patrick clarifies, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

Ray winks. “Sure. And I’m not the best real estate agent, travel agent, and photographer in Schitt’s Creek.”

“You’re the _only_ one of those things in this town, Ray,” David replies, mirroring Patrick’s stance as he rises to stand, right leg crossed over the left, leaning against the armchair.

Patrick shifts his weight to his other leg, still pressing his shoulder to the doorframe and David follows suit, obviously divvying his attention between Patrick and Ray, who has decided that 11:00pm on a Tuesday night is a perfect time to play twenty questions with his tenant and his tenant’s _not-boyfriend-wink-wink-nudge-nudge._

“Can I help you, Ray?” Patrick asks, smiling only to be polite.

Ray shakes his head. “No. I just heard some chatter and thought I’d see what my favorite tenant is up to.”

David squints down at Ray. “He’s your only tenant.”

“And my favorite.”

“Your favorite by default.”

Ray waves a hand. “Semantics. Now, tell me David, how’s the store coming along? Patrick here has been very tight-lipped about it.”

David raises a brow. “Has he now?”

Patrick notices the faint curl of David’s lips and immediately tries to steer the conversation elsewhere—anywhere than a line of questioning that may or may not reveal just how _smitten_ he’s become. How he ended up investing in his crush’s start up business as a roundabout way of flirting (though he did genuinely think that the business could be quite lucrative), Patrick will never know, but here he is, thousands of dollars in too deep, now also offering said crush a place to stay while his sister is ‘de-liced’ like his life is some cheesy Hallmark movie written by an underpaid thirty-something screenwriter who’s taken LSD for the first time.

“I’m just sort of a private person, you know?”

His statement is, of course, ignored.

“I was so surprised to hear that Patrick invested in your business. No offense, of course,” Ray amends, as if apologizing in advance grants him the freedom to say whatever he wants. “But Patrick is a real stickler for the rules. He’s always played it safe. And there’s nothing safe about a not-general-general store. ” 

“Well I think it’s a good investment,” Patrick replies a beat too fast, heart thudding rapidly in his chest. “I mean it.”

“Then why do you currently sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of it?” David asks, no actual malice in his voice. He’s curious, chin raised and eyes narrowed as if he’s appraising the situation at hand in the same way he appraises the layout of their store. It’s a methodical, analytical, _critical_ look, all the buzzwords that mean that David is taking the conversation seriously.

_Shit._

It’s through sheer luck that Patrick is able to volley back a witty remark despite the way David is looking at him. “I didn’t think I would need to defend my life choices… unless you’d prefer I didn’t help you run the store—“

“God, no!” David interjects. “I _need_ you.” he coughs into his fist, turning his head away. “I mean I need your help at the store. Obviously.” 

A long silence follows. If it were a sitcom, Patrick is sure that the producers would have inserted a laugh track at the awkwardness of it all.

Ray smiles pleasantly at the both of them, patting David’s hand before rising to walk to the door. He gives a reaffirming squeeze to Patrick’s shoulder as he passes by. “I’ll be up around eight if either of you want breakfast. I’ll just check in around then, okay? 

Patrick’s eyes widen. “Actually, Ray, that’s not necessary—“

But Ray is already whistling down the hall, a renewed skip in his step. It almost makes up for what Patrick hears once Ray gets to his own room.

“Oh, young love…” Ray says wistfully, giving Patrick one last goodnight wave before finally disappearing into his room.

When Patrick turns back to look at David, he sees that the other man has moved to sit in the recently vacated armchair—though ‘sitting’ may not be the best descriptor. David _lounges_ , one long leg stretched out over the armrest as the other swings lazily before him. He has an elbow propped against the other armrest, chin resting in his palm, dark eyes appearing almost black as he stares off into space, the small lamp on Patrick’s bedside table the only light source now—Patrick hadn’t even noticed that Ray had turned off the ceiling light on his way out the door.

David was _distracting—_ and as if Patrick needed another reminder of how effortlessly attractive David was, the man, when relaxed and unaware of himself, had the natural poise of a model, proof that the Rose genes flowed through him regardless of his self-imposed title as the ‘black sheep’ of the family. Despite the environment composed of tacky furniture (Ray’s, not Patrick’s personal choice, of course), metal headboard, and hideous floral wallpaper, the scene before him is _intimate_ in its domesticity, in the unguarded expression upon David’s face, and Patrick immediately realizes that this is the first time he’s been alone with David somewhere other than _Rose Apothecary._

Before Patrick can get lost in his ever-increasing labyrinth of thoughts, David clears his throat. “Well, that was…” he trails, tapping his fingers absentmindedly across the lid of the moisturizer.

“Quaint?” Patrick offers over his shoulder as he crouches to untie his shoes, placing them beside David’s black converse.

The left side of David’s lips quirk up briefly. “Funny.” he says, sarcasm apparent despite it being only a two-syllable word. It was one of David’s (and Alexis’, if Patrick was being honest) talents: communicating _exactly_ how he was feeling through intonation alone.

“You’re the one smiling.” 

David points adamantly to his lips. “It’s a pity smile.”

“A pity smile?”

“Yes. It’s a thing.” 

“If you say so, David.”

“It’s a thing,” he asserts again, swinging his leg back to the floor. “It’s a thing. I need to know that _you_ know that it’s a thing.”

“Hmm… let’s just leave it at a difference in opinion, okay?”

“But—“

Knowing how long the conversation could potentially go for, Patrick interrupts to change the subject. “Anyway, I’ve already brushed my teeth so you can take the bathroom. I’ll just change in here.”

“Okay, well I have around a twenty-step nightly routine so I may take awhile.”

“Thanks for letting me know; now I won’t think you fell into the toilet when you don’t come back within ten minutes.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute…” David mutters under his breath, having already retrieved his nightwear and bathroom kit from his bag. He secures them snugly under his arm and walks out the door, giving Patrick a quick flash of teeth in passing.

Patrick, to his credit, only spends a minute dazed at being called cute by David Rose before returning to reality. He changes into his sleepwear, an old college T-shirt and shorts, throwing his work clothes into the laundry hamper in the closet. Knowing that David would be awhile, Patrick settles into bed on the left side and returns to the book he’d been reading for the past few days.

Just as he begins to doze off, David returns, accidentally slamming the door shut behind him.

“Sorry…” David whispers, attempting to tiptoe across the room as Patrick watches with amusement.

“It’s alright. You look refreshed.”

David nods. “Body milk—which is still not a misleading name for a moisturizer, in my opinion—helps rejuvenate your skin. Makes it springy. Elastic. Soft.” His gaze drifts to the open closet and David makes a beeline for the row of shirts hanging inside of it. “Oh my God!”

“What?” 

“Do you… do you only own button-up shirts?” 

“No. There are sweaters in the armoire and some old T-shirts, if you must know.”

“You really like different shades of blue. It’s like an ocean in here, ” David mutters, pulling out a few long-sleeve shirts to study them, checking the tags for material quality and designer.

“That’s rich coming from the guy who only wears monochrome.”

“Touché,” David admits, returning the clothes to their respective spot. “But, in my defense, my wardrobe is quite versatile.” 

“You own at least ten of the same black sweater, David,” Patrick replies, deadpan. 

“Actually, they differ in material and designer. Which makes them different.”

“But are they really different if no one but you can tell the difference?”

David pauses, struggling for a retort.

“Anyway, whenever you’re done rifling through my stuff, I’d love to go to sleep sometime. Preferably before dawn.”

David gives a yawn, nodding along at Patrick’s words. “I was planning to sleep but your wardrobe accosted me with its…. blueness.”

“I think you’re just nosy.” Patrick pats the free side of the bed. “Come to bed already.”

David relents and slides under the covers, kicking Patrick’s leg by mistake as he makes himself comfortable. The bed is more than large enough for the two of them, but David is seemingly drawn to the center of the bed, taking up much more space than Patrick.

“This is nice,” David says. “Your bed’s much more comfortable than the one at the motel.”

“Glad to hear you’re enjoying your stay. You know what might make it better?”

“What?”

“Sleeping.”

Though Patrick had already turned off his beside lamp, he can still imagine the eye-roll  David gives him, knowing the other man all too well. In the dark, he can barely make out the lump beside him and perhaps that’s why he’s able to shift so that he’s sleeping on his side facing David despite how close they are to each other.

“Night, David. And hey, jokes aside, tonight’s been… nice. You would’ve made an arguably okay roommate in college.”

“Only okay? I’ll have you know that I’m the _epitome_ of a good roommate. I don’t snore and I pick up after myself.”

Patrick lets his silence act as a reply.

Eventually, David sighs, the sound of the sheets ruffling together. Even half-asleep in the dark, David has to talk while moving his hands. “Alright. So that last part might not be entirely true. But I’m arguably better than, like, whoever you had as a roommate.” 

“God, you’re right,” Patrick pauses, momentarily recalling his roommate from Hell. “But that’s a story for another night.”

Eyes adjusted to the dark, Patrick can see that David is staring up at the ceiling, lips pulled into a relaxed smile and it really hits him—here he is, having quit his job with Ray to help float a business with his crush, who is currently in bed beside him. He’s really moved on from Rachel, moved on from the assumptions he had imposed on himself, growing into his own as co-founder of _Rose Apothecary,_ a job that he looked forward to every day. He’s happier, freer than he’s ever allowed himself to be, the only vestige of his past as a mild-mannered man in an unhappy relationship and less than fulfilling job taking the form of his wardrobe, business-casual clothing that he didn’t hate… but also hadn’t put much thought into. Which, somehow, David had subconsciously caught on to immediately.

All other pondering aside, he can’t help but feel that moving to Schitt’s Creek was the best decision of his life.

“Goodnight, Patrick,” David says, turning over to face Patrick, a soft, sleepy smile on his face.

Patrick falls asleep easily after that, lulled by the natural comfort of having someone he trusted sleeping beside him. David was his business partner, friend, and maybe… maybe he could be something more.

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, lovebirds,” Ray greets loudly, eliciting a prolonged groan from one man and a litany of expletives from the other.

David throws a pillow in Ray’s direction and misses entirely, the pillow soaring far above his head and disappearing into the hallway. Patrick, beyond amused, fights off the urge to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek as he keeps his mouth covered underneath the grey duvet.

“Morning, Ray,” Patrick greets, the hint of a laugh bubbling in his voice.

“Sorry,” David says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “But throwing things is my immediate response to someone waking me up before 10 o’clock. It’s like my version of fight or flight.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time we have a sleepover,” Patrick replies, giving a wink before his mind can process that he’s actively flirting with David—has been, really, since he signed on to be his business partner, now that he thinks about it.

 _Shit._ When did he become the sort of person to mix business with pleasure?

In the haze of amber light that spills in through the curtains, it almost looks as if David is blushing, but Patrick assumes it’s just a trick of the light.

Ray clasps his hands together, returning to the center of attention. “Now that you’re both awake, I’ll get started on breakfast! Hope you two are hungry; there was a great deal at the farmer’s market and now I’ve got more eggs than I could ever use!”

David is the first to respond. “I’m always famished so just cook up as much as you want. Or maybe more. Like enough to feed a family of eight, I think. That would be a good estimate.”

“I’ll just have some cereal, but thanks Ray.”

Once Ray leaves, David rolls over to check his phone. There’s a string of text messages that Patrick only gets a glimpse of before David slams his phone back down on the bedside table hard enough that he visibly winces at what sounds worryingly like a crack.

“You okay there?”

“Just peachy,” David replies, slowly lifting the screen close to his face, squinting anxiously through his dark lashes. The screen lights his face and David sighs with relief, quickly removing the text message alert banners from his lock screen—but not before Patrick is able to see what looks like an entire row of… eggplant emojis from Stevie?

Realization dawns upon his face which he quickly schools into what could pass for merely a curious expression when David turns to look at him.

“What?”

“What?” Patrick parrots back innocently.

David gives a series of rapid blinks in return. “You had a look on your face.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, you did!”

“I think that’s just my face. Are you making fun of my face, David? After I so graciously offered you my home for the night?” Patrick asks, feigning sadness through the softening cadence of his words. He goes so far as to drag himself up by his elbows to rest more comfortably against the pillows and headboard before clutching at his own heart in a pained expression—David wasn’t the only one who could be theatric, after all.

David waves a finger, turning onto his side as he splutters. It brings his face even closer to Patrick’s. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well you should. I think you actually have a very nice face. Very… symmetrical.”

“Do I now?” Patrick counters, inching closer. “Symmetrical. What a compliment.”

Patrick’s eyes flicker to David’s lips, their closeness, the intimacy of being cocooned underneath the sheets together, has him imagining what it would be like if he leaned forward and kissed David. He exhales softly, hand shakily reaching forward to cup David’s face, only mere centimeters away from pressing their lips together.

“Boys!” Ray suddenly calls from downstairs.

Patrick and David jerk back to opposite sides of their respective pillows, the spell between them broken as they hear Ray’s heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs. The tension is still there—rippling underneath the skin at an accidental touch, or a look, or a _smile_ , little everyday things that wouldn’t summon butterflies in Patrick’s stomach if it were anyone else—but it is easy enough to ignore. He’s been trying to (and failing to) ignore his feelings since the day David shook his hand and he felt _something—_ something like a spark, as corny as it sounded, that urged him to listen to the numerous voicemails that David had left him instead of deleting them like he normally would with a clingy client.

“Oh good, you’re both decent,” Ray says as he opens the door without knocking, a metal spatula in his free hand.

David gives the facial expression equivalent of a row of question marks. “Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

“Uh Ray, we were ‘decent’ when you woke us up earlier, remember?”

“Well, you know young love,” Ray says, as if it answers one of the many questions buzzing about in Patrick’s head. “I’ve stumbled upon quite a few morning dalliances in my time.”

“Okay _eww_ , did not need to know that like ever… so thanks a bunch.”

Ray ignores the comment, ushering the two with a wave of his spatula. “Anyway, breakfast is ready! I’ve made pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast, and there’s some cereal for Patrick too, of course.” 

“And suddenly everything you’ve said prior to this has been forgiven. Thanks so much, Ray,” David replies sweetly, kicking off the covers to stand in his fluffy black sweater and shorts. It is as casual as Patrick has ever seen David, his dark hair messily layered, looking undeniably _soft_ and Patrick has to stop himself from running his fingers through it as he follows closely behind.

They reach the kitchen in record time, David having descended the steps two at a time in his eagerness to eat a meal that wasn’t from the café. A soft smile curls on Patrick’s lips as he watches David quickly shovel food onto his plate like he’s being timed while Ray hums happily, pulling a bagel out of the toaster. Patrick makes a mental note that food—home cooked food, especially—is a great motivational tool for David. He had a gut feeling he’d be using the information in the future.

As David settles to eat at the wooden table, he turns to look at Patrick, a piece of toast clutched between his teeth, and motions for the other man to sit by patting the chair beside him.

“Ah, don’t mind if I do,” Ray interrupts, looking ready to steal the seat but pauses at the sharp glare David gives him, toast still dangling between his teeth.

“Thanks, David…” Patrick trails, giving Ray an apologetic look as he sits down to eat. He ends up grinning the entire meal—the most he’s smiled since breaking up with Rachel and moving to Schitt’s Creek—and is happy to see that David is smiling too even as they battle for space around the small, cluttered table, elbows knocking against each other in rhythm to the sound of clinking cutlery.

It’s… beyond nice. Domestic, even. Something Patrick knows he could become addicted to, if he allowed himself to feel, to lean into his budding emotions. He hopes, against the odds, that it won’t be the last time he has the privilege to see David like this: happy, smiling, content, and _at peace,_ anxieties quieted for the time being.

 

* * *

 

A few days and one brief trip to the café for tea and coffee later, Patrick returns to the store to see Stevie sitting on the check-out counter, scuffed converse kicking outwards as she says something that brings as close to a blush as Patrick has seen onto David’s face.

He catalogues the moment to memory before opening the door, popping his head in with a smile. David looks surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting to see Patrick back so soon even though the café is practically next-door.

“Speak of the devil,” Stevie says with an uncharacteristically wide grin, confirming Patrick’s suspicions. 

“Gossiping about your business partner, I see?” Patrick teases, handing David his usual coffee order, having memorized it after the third or so time he’d gone to fetch them drinks. “Nice to see you, Stevie.” he adds, taking a sip of his tea.

David shakes his head immediately. “No. I was just telling Stevie about how… nice of a time I had at your place. Or your place at Ray’s place, I guess.”

Stevie nods. “Yeah. It definitely sounded… nice. Though, I still can’t believe you guys actually slept together.”

“Stevie!” David hisses, cat-like.

Patrick cocks his head, playing innocent.“ What? She’s right. We did sleep together.”

“We did what now?”

“We slept together… in the same bed. It’s not a big deal. If you were uncomfortable you should have told me. I would’ve slept on the sofa downstairs.”

David opens his mouth and closes it, repeating the action until he finally settles on something that sounds close to a frustrated groan. “That’s not the problem! Stevie’s been insinuating _things_ all morning to purposefully get a rise out of me."

“What sort of things?”

Stevie folds her arms. “You’ll have to be a lot more specific David, because I’ve been talking about a lot of things this morning.”

Patrick, in turn, strokes his chin, expression severe, like he’s some sort of high-brow academic with a PhD in the art of teasing David Rose. “Hmm, now I’m curious. It’s not like two grown adult men can’t share a bed together, so I really can’t imagine what’s bothering you. Please, David, enlighten us.” 

“You’re both evil,” David mutters, raising the coffee cup to his lips. “Evil!” he repeats loudly before taking a large, careless sip, nearly spitting it out a moment later, a few stray drops of coffee dribbling down his chin and onto his sweater. “Fuck!” 

“Now, you know coffee in paper cups is normally hot,” Patrick placates with a playful grin before taking pity on the other man. He ducks into the storage room and returns to see that David is now the one sitting on the counter, legs dangling. Patrick can’t help but give him a reassuring pat on the knee as he hands the roll to David.

David, despite having spilled coffee on what is probably a sweater worth more than Patrick’s first car, grins kindly at the gesture, angling himself closer to the man. “Thanks,” he says sincerely, clasping one hand over Patrick’s, his fingers still warm from holding the coffee cup. 

It’s only then that Patrick notices that he never actually removed his hand from David’s knee. 

Patrick’s phone buzzes suddenly in his back pocket and he reluctantly reaches for it once David pulls away. As he checks the message, he realizes that at some point during the fiasco Stevie had disappeared—which is, of course, no coincidence. The unknown number had left him a text message of a single winky-face emoji, signed at the bottom with the initials _SB._ Patrick immediately adds Stevie as a new contact. 

Patrick’s phone buzzes again and he rolls his eyes warmly at the text message, responding later when David is busy rearranging the store’s current selection of skincare products:

**_SB: Ask him on a date already!!!_ **

**_PB: I will. Promise. ;)_ **

Schitt’s Creek was really starting to feel like home.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll go back & edit this later for grammar/spelling issues, but for now, hope y'all enjoyed ;3c


End file.
